Smith shook his head. “You’re saying we have to be two people. One fights the death, and the other lets death win. I don’t get it.”
“We don’t have to get it. We must simply do it.”
“It may be simple for you, Elijah, but it ain’t so simple for me.”
The two priests lapsed into silence.
“There’s so much irrationality in all this. Some friends sent me a book on the Antichrist the other day. There are all kinds of prophesies in it. Lots of saints and popes were sure their day was the end time.”
“Our sick man recovered. The spirit of Antichrist has been present from the beginning. Saint John says to the believers of his time that they are living in the final hour. In a sense, all of the Christian era is the last days. Is it so irrational to conclude that the period of the end will reach a definitive climax?”
“I suppose not. But is ours that time? Look, one of those visionaries, hundreds of years back, said that the Antichrist won’t have an earthly father. The devil will be his father. He’ll be born of a virgin. He’ll have teeth and spout blasphemies from birth. He’ll be educated by necromancers and magicians. He’ll perform miracles. It goes on and on. He’s a nasty character all round, I’d say.”
“If that was a vision, it was allegorical. There are other prophecies that describe his bearing and personality differently. He will be an enormously attractive figure. The Greek and Latin Fathers say that he won’t appear to be a monster. Saint Jerome and Saint Thomas, who were models of sobriety, describe many of his noble attributes. Cardinal Newman’s essays warn that he will reap the harvest of a strong delusion that will fall over the minds of men. Antichrist will bite us, but it won’t be with fangs. He will blaspheme, but it will be in the most elegant language. He will deny that Jesus is the only Christ and deny that He is God. In the place of the Savior, he will erect himself as an anti-icon, an embodiment of human greatness. He will lead mankind to adore its own ego, and eventually, to adore Satan.”
Elijah spoke in tones of utmost sadness. Smith observed him closely, saying nothing.
“Are you getting enough protein in your diet?” he quipped.
For once Elijah did not warm to the American priest’s wry humor.
“Father, it is close. The deception will be strong. We must be very little. We must cling to the Cross.”
Smith sighed. “That’s too dark for me. I’ve got real problems staring me in the face. Much more insistent than the Beast of the Apocalypse.”
“What are the problems?”
“The heat’s been turned up a notch, or down, depending on how you look at it. I’m getting articles sent to me at the magazine that make me uneasy. We occasionally received things like it in the past, but no more than a trickle. It’s swelling into a steady stream. The general says we should be open. He’s been asking himself if this new stuff is maybe the Holy Spirit trying to tell us something.”
“What is the content of this material?”
“Mostly it’s about not being judgmental about world religions, about making amends for our ‘theological imperialism’, they call it. You understand I’m talking about priests and bishops here. They want the Church to make public apologies to the Muslims for the Crusades, the Protestants for the Inquisition, the natives for converting Mexico, et cetera. There’s a whole lot of breast-beating going on; just visible underneath it there’s contempt for the evangelical calling of the Church.”
“All religions are the same?”
“They don’t come right out and say it, but that’s the message It makes my stomach churn every time I read the stuff. So far I’ve argued the general out of printing it, but he’s getting more and more flack from the field. Those guys want to know why he’s not publishing their articles. I told you, he’s super-nice. He’s not tough.”
“Can he not see the damage such articles would inflict?”
“He thinks it’s just academic back-and-forthing. He’s not the greatest intellect in the world, you realize.”
“What do you think motivates the writers?”
Smith raised his eyebrows as far as they would go and threw up his hands: “I tell you, Elijah, I don’t know. Whenever they get close to making any kind of sense, you can watch their minds just swerve away real fast. It boggles me! Offer them a genuine idea, and they just blink off, fade out, or sink into a bucket of mental sludge. I’ve been ranting about it to the general, which doesn’t help matters any.”
“Really, Father, you mustn’t. It pushes him in their direction,”
“I know, I know, but I can’t seem to stop myself. It usually takes me by surprise. It’s uncanny the way that happens. For instance, the mail will arrive while the general’s standing by my desk discussing the weather with me. A piece of garbage pops out of an envelope and I scan it while we’re gabbing about soccer scores. A line leaps off the page about the Inquisitional Church of this Pontificate or some such idiotic thing, and I just erupt. I fume, my face turns red, and I make some comment in a loud voice. He stops talking, just looks at me with that poker face, wondering if I’m everything they say about me. He drifts out of the office without another word, a gentle, worried look on his face. About an hour later, he wanders back in and says something out of the blue like, we have to pay more attention to the spirit of aggiornamento. And shouldn’t we be open to all sides, provide a forum for dialogue, keep everyone listening to each other? Listening! Hell, nobody listens to anyone anymore. He’s still living in the seventies. The only thing this garbage will do is bend the heads of the simple priests and a huge portion of the faithful.”
“How many?”
“We’re one of the biggest missionary magazines in the world. Hundreds of priests and thousands of catechists read us. Hundreds of thousands of lay people too. Do I want to explain that to the Lord on Judgment Day? Not much.”
“Then you have a duty to stand firm. Reject this material.”
“I have orders to let some of it through. A token, a gesture of openness, says the general. I’ve resisted so far. He won’t know I’ve failed to comply till the next issue’s out in the fall. Then it’s going to get real tense.”
Smith’s hands tried to relight his pipe.
“It’s like Catholic Times happening all over again”, he said.
“Stand firm, Father. Let our Lord act.”
“Okay. Will you pick up the pieces if He doesn’t act?”
“I will do better than that. I will pray for you as we prayed last year, and we will beg for a miracle.”
“What happens if we don’t get one this time?”
“Then I will speak with someone I know in the Vatican.”
“You’ve got friends over there?”
“I am acquainted with some officials. They may be able to find you a place in another religious house.”
“Good. Will you put in a plug for a monastery? I’ve always wanted to have a cell of my own.”
“We will see. Pray, Father. Trust and pray.”
* * *
One day in early November, a letter came to Elijah’s mail slot at the House of Studies. It was typewritten and unsigned.
It read: Remember Our Lady of Sorrows. I need to talk with you. Your mail and telephone may not be reliable. Call me on a public telephone. Ask for Maria.
Penned at the bottom was a Rome number.
He drove to a nearby hotel and used the payphone in the lobby. A woman’s voice answered.
“May I speak to Maria?”
“One moment.”
He listened to muffled conversation on the line.
“This is Maria.” It was Anna’s voice.
“Where are you?”
“I’m at a restaurant in the east end.”
“Can you talk freely?”
“More or less. Can you come here?”
“I’ll be there as soon as possible.”
She gave him directions, and half an hour later they were facing each other across a table in the back room of a cheap café.
The orange imitation-velvet wallpaper was festooned with plaster busts of emperors and draped with strings of red peppers.
“It’s not fancy, but it’s anonymous.”
“You said that my mail and phone may be unreliable.”
“I meant secure. If I’m not mistaken, your ingoing and outgoing letters are being opened. And your line is probably being tapped.”
“What makes you think so?”
“They know about Foligno.”
“Oh, no”, he breathed.
“They don’t know much, only that you were there. It’s sparked their hope that you and I. . .”
“Ah, you mean our mythological romance.”
“Yes, that. The President called me in The Hague last week and hinted at it. ‘Well done, Anna’, he said. ‘You may have succeeded after all.’ It made my flesh crawl. I let him think something is growing between us. Of course there is something, but I didn’t tell him it’s an old-fashioned friendship.”
Elijah sighed. “But to what purpose? Our cover is blown, as they say in the mystery novels. The spy game is over.”
“Your game may be over but mine isn’t. My cover is still intact. The illusion of a romance enhances his confidence in me, and with your permission I’d like to feed it a little.”
“Before we go any farther, Anna, there is something I have to tell you.”
He described the discovery of the bug that had been planted on Stato.
She looked blank, got up, and went to the washroom. She returned ten minutes later.
“It’s all right. I’m clean. You had me worried.”
“So, how do you suggest we feed the illusion of romance?”
“Let’s start sending discreet little notes to each other. We’ll use coded language that any fool could decipher.”
“I see. A sort of counter-counter-intelligence operation. I still don’t feel easy about it. They could use it against us some day.”
“Do you think anyone cares any more about the sins of priests? They have more than enough scandal material to use against the Church. They wouldn’t bother with ordinary indiscretions. It’s something bigger they want.”
“Which is?”
“They want you, and their appetite has been whetted again.”
“There is something wrong here. They are too clever. They will know.”
“They’re not omnipotent. They can’t know everything.”
“I suppose you are right. Still. . .”
“And if you’re worried about. . .” She did not complete the sentence.
“I’m not so much worried about your heart as my own.”
“I know.”
“Do you think it’s easy for me to tell you that? Do you know how painful it is to admit that a person I care for is also a source of temptation?”
“Is that what I am?”
“I’m sorry. I said that badly. You are not the temptation, Anna. The temptation is all within me: the image in the mind, the dream, the memory of fairest love—it draws me toward a consolation that is not meant to be mine in this world. But you—you will always be my friend in the truest, deepest meaning of the word.”
Emotion filled her eyes. She did not break his gaze.
“We have to fight them, Elijah”, she said at last, vehemently. “Don’t let them take everything.”
“In the end, they will lose.”
“But how much will they destroy in the process! Too much!”
Tears spilled out of her eyes.
“Anna,” he said helplessly, “I just don’t see what we can do.”
“You needn’t do anything, really. A few notes, a few calls. Enough to keep them thinking their plans are succeeding. In the meantime, this will let me farther in. There are already signs that I’m moving from one circle into another.”
“What signs?”
“Yesterday, at the President’s invitation, I attended a private gathering at an estate near Rome. That’s why I’m here in the city.”
“What was the purpose of the gathering?”
“I wasn’t privy to all of it, but it was obvious that during the weekend they were deliberately revealing themselves to me—more than they ever have up until now. It was a test of some sort. I think I’ve passed.”
“What sort of people were present?”
“It wasn’t a large group. Twelve men and seven women, including myself. The odd thing is, they weren’t the usual ones who surround him at public functions. No politicians or financiers that I could recognize, no famous people. But each and every one of them exuded. . . power. These are people who somewhere on this planet exert some kind of enormous influence. But I can’t begin to guess the nature of it.”
“Why were you invited? Surely not to discuss a romance?”
“Ostensibly that was one of the reasons. In his subtlest manner he repeated the congratulations he had given only a few days before on the phone. He also hinted at the test case the World Court is considering next month. Though why he should bother escapes me, because they know it will go their way. The UN and the Europarliament are determined to make the antipopulation laws binding throughout the world.”
“How will you vote?”
She hesitated.
“I’m sorry, that was presumptuous of me. You are a judge. I had no right to ask.”
“I have spent many sleepless nights over the problem. I have come to the conclusion that the new legislation is fundamentally destructive. It will make it possible for governments to inflict many violations of human rights on their peoples. I know I can’t support it. On the other hand, if I come out against it, my cover is blown. You see, it’s a keystone in their move toward global power. They must have it. They know I’m smart enough to recognize that. That’s why they put me there. They don’t suspect my innermost thoughts on the matter.”
“Then what will you do?”
“I’m torn. The legislation is abhorrent to me. Yet, if I am ever to strike back at the men who killed Stefano, then I’m going to have to play their game. I can’t be ejected from their circle.”
“Anna, I beg you. It’s a mistake. If you vote their way, you will be using an evil means to achieve a good end. In the long run, it can never work.”
“You don’t understand. There will be a dissenting vote or two. But the court is going to pass it into world law. My vote will make no difference either way.”
“Are you so sure?”
“I know it. He controls a majority. The rest are sympathetic to the legislation. The one or two dissenting votes are people due to retire soon. He has already won.”
“Even so, it is a matter of conscience. For the sake of your soul!”
“My soul? I sometimes wonder if my soul died a long time ago. It’s buried in a coffin in Milan.”
“Do you remember our visit to Don Matteo? Do you recall what he said to you?”
“I remember.”
“Some day you will join Stefano. All of this will be over. You will be happy together forever. Do not risk eternity for a dirty game of espionage.”
“That’s too theological. I can’t think along those lines. I want Stefano’s killer. If the world won’t give me justice, then I’m going to get it some other way!”
“I beg you.”
She shook her head, brushing his arguments away. “Let’s leave that for now. There is more I want to tell you. I know now that my intuition about Stefano’s death is correct.”
“How do you know that?”
“During this past weekend, I met his killer.”
“You did?! Who is he?”
“I don’t know his name. He was one of the group.”
“But that’s shocking! What happened?”
“You have to understand that the nature of this meeting was different from any others I have attended. The faces were unknown to me. From the moment of my arrival, it was first names only. No last names. Only the President was known to everyone there. Nothing was said. Nothing was overt. All conversations were generali
ties. But they were generalities about earth-shaking matters. Movements on the world scene, personalities, strategies. None of it understandable to anyone who wasn’t deep inside their view of things. It was wheels within wheels, gyroscopes within gyroscopes. That part of it I didn’t understand. No, not at all. But do you remember I once told you how I had learned to read personalities. How the flicker of an eyebrow speaks volumes to me, the interplay of glances, who communicates what to whom, et cetera?”
“I remember.”
“I was a criminal lawyer during the early years of my practice. I can spot a murderer, Elijah, and I tell you there was more than one present this weekend. But these men are a different kind of animal—a species I’ve never met before. There is something utterly sane and utterly psychopathic about them. Can you understand what I’m saying?”
He nodded, remembering Eichmann’s face.
“Perfect gentlemen?”
“Exactly. Perfect gentlemen with something hideous behind their eyes. It chilled me. From the moment I entered the front door of that place, I wanted to run. But I knew if I did I would never stop running.”
“I think the time to leave them is now. Just walk away. Plead illness. A nervous breakdown, anything. But you must get out!”
“I’m not getting out. When I tell you the rest, you’ll see why.”
“Go ahead.”
“Last night, after dinner, we were standing around having drinks, chatting in little groups. One of the men came up to the group in which I was standing. The President was with us. I could see that he’s on some equal footing with the President, because everyone else took a little step back when he approached. It was one of those subconscious things people do that inform you a man is very important, in a class by himself. But he’s completely unknown. I have no idea who he is. The deference shown to him was phenomenal. There was nothing remarkable about his appearance—he was about sixty years old, balding, of moderate height. He spoke in a quiet voice, said nothing of significance, only a few mild jokes that everyone took appreciatively. He was not introduced to me. Eventually he strolled away and the President followed him. It was casual, nonchalant, but I saw that he’d been beckoned.”
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